


Haunted

by commodorepeppers



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Depression, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 16:47:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17853413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commodorepeppers/pseuds/commodorepeppers
Summary: Martha keeps having nightmares. She shrugs it off as PTSD until she sees the news.





	Haunted

Its always his face. 

That maniac who ruined my life. 

Ruined my family's life. Tish has to have therapy. Dad was suicidal. Mum cries herself to sleep. Leo doesn't know what's happening and it's tearing him apart. 

All because of that psychopath.

In my dreams, I kill him every night. 

Mickey does what he can. Sometimes I awake to him serenading me in his arms. I ask him what's wrong. He doesn't reply but he doesn't have to.

The Master was haunting me. And it was never going to stop. 

His laughing face haunted me again one night. But something was different. His face had a green aura to it and he looked different.

His clean shaven face was no longer and he looked scruffy. Almost homeless looking. 

There was something new in his eye. 

Before his eyes looked broken behind all the madness. Now they were filled with the purest of lunacy.

Perhaps this was more PTSD. Nothing new. I shrugged it off. It's nothing. Nothing at all. 

I decided to get up. Mickey was already gone and the bed was half empty. He was cooking.

Always a bad sign.

"I made you eggs." he said, almost dancing his way across to me.

His cheeky chappy smile immediately disappeared when he saw my face. "More nightmares." 

It was a statement. Not a question.

I decided to wear a smile and thanked him for the food. He was a love. The purest of souls. More than I deserved.

"You can't think like that." he said, as if he'd read my mind, He always seemed to be able to do that.

He gripped my hand, seriously. His eyes beaming with concern.

"The Master's dead."

I almost believed him.

Almost. 

The TV playing in the background was a curse. 

A joke. 

A cruel joke. 

"Lucy Saxon amongst others killed in freak explosion." read the headline. 

Way to jinx it Mick.


End file.
